The Authorities, page 28
It was a testament to what one man could accomplish if he had the will and ambition to pay a bunch of people to accomplish things.
The team would be a key part of Capp’s presentation, so they were waiting in an adjacent, equally large conference room, which was being used as a staging area. In the main room, reporters sat in neat rows of chairs, enjoying baked goods and cold drinks. In the side room, Rutherford and Max grabbed enough chairs for everyone off a stack in the far corner and they sat near the door at a round plywood banquet table with no tablecloth, looking at their provided refreshments: a plastic-wrapped case of room-temperature bottled water that had been hastily cut open with a box knife.
“It sounds like a pretty good turnout in there,” Terri said.
Sloan said, “The ladies and gentlemen of the press, hard at work, waiting patiently to be told what happened this morning in their own town by someone who was thousands of miles away at the time.”
“See, that’s what I don’t get,” Rutherford said. “They know Arledge was murdered. They know Shaw was arrested. They filmed me apprehending him, walking him through the wet cement, and handing him over to the police. What do they think Capp’s going to tell them that they don’t already know?”
“How Capp’s involved,” Albert said.
“But they must know that,” Rutherford said. “When I was a cop, we knew that you all were working for Capp. At least one cop must have referred to us as Capp’s people to a reporter. The fact that we work for him can’t come as a surprise.”
Terri said, “But he hasn’t publically admitted it. Even if he just tells them what they already know, the fact that he’s telling them is news.”
Max said, “If you make yourself interesting enough, everything you do becomes interesting. I’d think you would understand that principle.”
“You owe your job to it, after all,” Sherwood added.
They passed a few more minutes with small talk. They discussed the weather, the traffic, what descaling the van’s boiler was like, what Sherwood would do when his time with the team ran out, and how hard it would be to pick cured terrazzo out of the treads of Rutherford’s sneakers.
Finally, the door at the far corner of the room flew open and a smartly dressed woman in her late twenties strode purposefully toward the team, holding a phone to her ear with one hand and a clipboard in front of her with the other. She was saying, “Yes. Yes, of course. Yes. Um, we’ll need to discuss that further.”
Rutherford suspected that last bit was her version of saying no.
As she approached, Max and Sherwood stood, because that’s what men of their generation and upbringing do when a lady approaches. Rutherford and Albert also stood, because that’s what men of their generation do when they’re reminded what good manners look like. Terri stood too, because she felt silly staying seated. Sloan didn’t move a muscle.
As the woman reached their table, she said, “If I can ask you to hold on, I need to brief Mr. Capp’s team.” She took the phone away from her ear and smiled. “Welcome to the Gaston. I’m Sarah, the event manager. I just thought you’d like to know that Mr. Capp is in the building.” She smiled again, put the phone back to her ear, and said, “Okay, I’m back. Yes? Yes. I agree.”
Sloan said, “I have to hand it to her. That was brief.”
Max offered the woman his seat. She smiled, but refused. Max sat back down, as did the rest of the team. None of them spoke, as to do so in the presence of someone engaged in a phone call would have felt rude.
At one point she put a hand over the phone’s mouthpiece and whispered, “Please don’t smoke in here,” to Rutherford. He had forgotten he even had his e-cigar in his mouth. He started to tell her that he wasn’t really smoking, but by then she had returned to her phone call. He shrugged at Terri, who shrugged back, so he tucked the e-cigar in his pocket.
Soon she interrupted her stream of affirmative responses to tell them that Capp was in the elevator, and then that Capp was on their floor.
A few seconds later the door burst open again and Vince Capp entered. He was surrounded by four people in crisp suits. He wore a rumpled suit, no tie, and a shirt undone to the second button. As he entered, he tucked something into his ear. Rutherford suspected it was an earpiece to allow him to converse with Sloan.
The hotel representative greeted Capp and assured him everything was in order, and that his guests were present and being taken care of.
Capp smiled and greeted his team, then asked Rutherford, “Where’s your cigar?”
Rutherford said, “She asked me not to smoke.”
Capp said, “And you listened to her?”
Rutherford pulled the cigar out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. Capp looked happy. The woman who’d asked him to stop smoking did not.
Capp shook her hand, thanked her, and pointed to someone in his well-dressed entourage. “I’d like to introduce you to Lindsay. She’s one of my media consultants.”
The hotel rep shook Lindsay’s hand, then Lindsay hit the woman with a high-speed barrage of information that kept her quite distracted while Capp moved on to the team. He shook everyone’s hand and slapped a few shoulders along the way. Rutherford noted that while his tone and demeanor did not change, his grip was much more gentle when he shook Sloan’s hand.
As he shook Rutherford’s hand, he said, “And you, the new guy, I just couldn’t be happier with the work you’ve done.”
Rutherford said, “Yeah, uh, about that. I’d like to have a word with you.”
“Sure,” Capp said, “we’ll have a chance to chat later on.” He raised his voice to address the entire team. “Because after the press conference, you’re all coming with me. We’re going to celebrate, and I have the perfect place all set up.”
Everyone reacted positively to this, which seemed to make Capp happy. He turned back to Rutherford and said, “Oh, and there’s been a lot of progress on your persona. In fact, we’ve got the nickname thing cracked.”
“Really,” Rutherford said, hoping he sounded excited.
Capp said, “Yeah.” He was about to continue when another of his suited minions cleared his throat and said, “Sir, the press is waiting.”
Capp said, “Of course. Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to John. He’s another one of my media consultants.”
Everyone nodded or muttered greetings to John, who in return said, “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. Now, in a moment, that door over there is going to open and the press conference is going to begin. When that happens, Mr. Capp will enter first. We’ll ask all of you to line up on this side of the door. We’ll tell you when to enter.”
Rutherford tore his gaze away from John and saw that Capp was already many feet away, next to the door, being fussed over by the two remaining minions.
“There is a raised platform and a podium in front of the press,” John said. “There are stairs leading up to it. You are not to go up onto the platform. You’ll stand beside the platform, in front of those stairs. Stand up straight, face the audience, and look happy to be here.” He paused, glanced at Sloan, stammered for a moment, then continued. “Mr. Capp will do all of the talking. All questions will be directed to him. If a question is directed at one of you, he will answer it. When the conference is over, he’ll come back through this door. You will all follow him. Any questions?”
Professor Sherwood said, “I have a question.”
John was already looking toward Capp and the other two minions, all of whom were looking back at him. One of the minions pointed at his watch.
John said, “Yes, Stuart,” then turned to Professor Sherwood and said, “I’m sorry, but it looks like your question will have to wait until after the press conference.”
Sherwood muttered, “What was the point in asking, then?”
John, his eyes bulging, said, “I told you, no question until afterward.”
Sherwood said, “That wasn’t my question.”
John shushed Professor Sherwood, rolled his eyes, and turned away to watch the door.
Sherwood pulled his spray bottle of bee pheromone out of his pocket, eyed the back of John’s head, then put the bottle back into his pocket.
Capp walked out the door. The chatter from the crowd in the next room dissolved, replaced by a low muttering and many clicking noises. Capp made some opening remarks that resulted in a chuckle, but Rutherford didn’t know what they were. He and the rest of the team were too busy being herded to the door and lined up like soldiers waiting for their marching orders. When they had finally achieved a formation that satisfied the marketing consultants, Rutherford found himself near the middle with Sloan on one side and Albert on the other. Beyond Sloan and Terri, he could see Capp standing at the podium through the open door.
Capp’s prepared statement explained that a suspect had been apprehended in the murder of Dr. Daniel Arledge, that substantial physical evidence had been found at the scene, and that said evidence was being carefully chiseled off the wall as he spoke. He confirmed that the suspect was identified by private consultants who had been working with the police, and admitted that the rumors were true, the consultants were bankrolled by him.
He gestured toward the door. In unison, the three marketing minions whispered, “Go! Go! Go!” as they put their hands on the team’s shoulders and pushed them through the door.
The team walked to the side of the stage and stopped at the spot they’d been told.
Capp said, “This is my team. They are each an authority in their chosen specialty, so internally we’ve been calling them the Authorities. They’re an elite group of crime-fighting experts, hand assembled by me, working at my direction, with my funding, to solve crimes I deem worthy of their expertise.”
Capp continued, enumerating his reasons for starting the group, most of which were variations on the theme of I wanted to make a difference, and this was a way I could be of service. All the while, the team stood beside the stage, facing the press and listening.
Rutherford took his e-cigar from his mouth, leaned toward Sloan, and whispered, “I thought you said Max and I had done the work, but you were going to get all the credit. Sounds to me like he’s stealing it.”
“No, he bought it,” Sloan said, her artificial voice loud and clear in his earpiece. “I got the credit from him. Now he’s getting his for having hired all of us. That’s how credit works. You get a little from me, I get more from him, and he gets a lot from the rest of the world.”
“It’s almost exactly the same as how the money works,” Max said, just loud enough to be heard, “which fits, as they’re both forms of compensation.”
Rutherford saw the logic in the arrangement, but the part of his brain that was set aside for criticizing his superiors had powered up, and would take a while to coast to a stop.
“I don’t know what he’s thinking. He lets them see us, but he doesn’t tell them our names. He can’t possibly think they’ll stay secret, can he?”
Sloan said. “He has no intention of hiding our identities. He wants everyone to know who we are.”
“Then why isn’t he telling the reporters our names?”
“Rutherford, there’s a world of difference between failing to volunteer information and hiding it. If he’d told them our names, they’d have jotted them down, put them in their stories, and that’s it. By not telling them, he’s making them find out the information themselves, and they’ll make a much bigger deal out of it when they do.”
“Yeah, but then they’ll figure out that I’m not really the guy my clothes and car say I am,” Rutherford muttered.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Most people live their whole lives without understanding that about themselves, let alone other people. Besides, when those reporters figure out who we are, who do you think will seem the most interesting? The grandfatherly martial artist? The young genius inventor who wears bespoke tweed suits? The woman who uses her talents as a middle manager to fight crime? The disfigured detective? The man who commands the bees to do his bidding? Or a guy in his early twenties whose tastes are evolving? Capp hired you to help draw attention to us in a way that people could easily understand. You’re doing a great job, but his hope is now that we have the press’s attention, they’ll find us interesting in our own right.”
“So I’m not needed anymore.”
“No, you’re needed more than ever. It’s easier to get people’s attention than it is to hold people’s attention.”
Terri leaned around Sloan to address Rutherford. Her tone of voice was angry and her expression matched, but she whispered, “For example, Mr. Capp is having a hard time holding the reporters’ interest because you appear to be mumbling snide comments under your breath. I want them to think I’m chewing you out for it, but this is the kind of thing he pays you for, so well done.”
Rutherford grimaced. He looked around, and saw that Capp and all of the reporters were staring at him. In his ear, he heard Sloan say, “Don’t apologize. It’ll ruin the effect.”
Rutherford put his cigar back in his mouth and scowled at the reporters. Capp cleared his throat, smiled, and said, “What can I say, that’s Cement Shoes Rutherford for you.”
The reporters all made a note as if on cue.
Sloan said, “There you go. He mentioned your name. Happy now?”
Eventually, the press conference ended. Capp walked off the stage and out the door. The team followed, the water vapor cloud from Rutherford’s cigar trailing behind them like steam from a train.
When they were all back in the prep room, surrounded by Capp’s marketing staff and safely separated from the reporters by a flimsy wall and a single door, Capp turned to address his employees, which was everyone in the room.
“Excellent,” Capp said. “Good work everyone! I think that all went really well.” He laughed and smacked Rutherford on the shoulder playfully. “And you! Mumbling to yourself, disrupting my press conference, genius!”
Rutherford’s actual personality surfaced before he could stop it. “It wasn’t deliberate, sir. Sorry.”
Capp’s smile evaporated. The room went silent.
Capp said, “Kid, don’t ever embarrass me again, in private or in public, by accident. I pay you to feign disrespect for all authority, not to genuinely disrespect my authority. If you ever behave like that again, you make sure it’s on purpose.”
Rutherford started to say yes, sir, then paused, held up a finger, and said, “Whatever, pops.” Rutherford took a drag off his e-cigar and blew the vapor in Capp’s face.
Capp laughed, hit Rutherford on the shoulder again, and said, “Well done! I knew I had the right man for the job. Okay, let’s get out of here.”
TWENTY-SIX
Rutherford followed Capp’s UPS truck, as per his instructions. He had asked where they were going, so that he’d still have some chance of getting the team there if he got stuck at a light, but Capp refused to ruin the surprise.
They followed the monorail track north out of downtown for just long enough to half convince the team that they were going to the Space Needle, which, like all iconic structures that define their city for tourists, was usually avoided at all cost by the city’s actual citizens.
Eventually, the UPS van led them farther east, around the base of Queen Anne Hill and along the edge of Lake Union. It pulled over and came to a stop, leaving barely enough room for Rutherford to parallel park the van. Conversation inside the van faded into the background for him as he concentrated on maneuvering the behemoth into the available space without damaging the car behind or holding up traffic too much. When the van was finally in place, Rutherford’s tunnel vision receded and his other senses filtered back. All he could hear was the sound of the team piling out of the van, and Sloan’s voice repeating, “Laughing.”
Rutherford looked out the passenger window. He saw slivers of blue-gray water between a large dock and a chaotic multitude of houseboats. The vessels varied in appearance, but fell into one of two basic categories: boats that were being lived in like houses, and houses that were floating on the water like boats. Only one houseboat stood out, despite being situated at the far end of a dock, because it was neither of those things. Also, the fact that Vince Capp was standing in front of it invariably drew some attention.
Rutherford walked down the dock, barely aware of his own actions, and joined the rest of the team, who were staring in fascination at what he knew must be his new home.
A ramshackle aluminum travel trailer sat on one side, almost taking up the entire length of a dilapidated barge, which was little more than a rust-and-tar-colored rectangle. A flimsy garden shed sat at the tail end of the barge so that it and the trailer together formed a big metal L. Capp stood in the remaining empty space, next to three folding lawn chairs and a charcoal grill shaped like a giant Seahawks helmet. He held his arms out and said, “Eh?! Eh?! We couldn’t decide between a trailer and a boat, and then we thought, why choose?”
Rutherford carefully walked down the wooden gangplank, followed by the rest of the team.
Capp said, “We bought the barge used, then counter balanced it so you could have the trailer to the side and use this big open space for a deck. Your washer, dryer, and extra storage are in the shed. You have full electricity, cable TV, and high-speed Internet. You’re hooked up to municipal water, and a service will come out every week to refill your propane and pump your sewage tank.”
